


where all paths lead

by Katbelle



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Claire Temple is a prophet, Consequences, Divergent Timelines, Experimental Style, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Human Trafficking, It's also all pain, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Minor Foggy Nelson/Marci Stahl, Minor Frank Castle/Karen Page, Poor Life Choices, Post-Season/Series 03, Sort of I am sorry if it's difficult to read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26190970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katbelle/pseuds/Katbelle
Summary: Destiny can't be changed, Matt. All roads lead to the same destination.This whole situation makes Matt uneasy. It’snothinglike that, it’s clearly different, but at the same time it’s Fisk all over again, with Matt potentially putting all their lives in danger. It’s Castle all over again, with Matt forcing them into a case that Foggy doesn’t like and wasn’t consulted on. Matt aches to reach out to Foggy and to reassure him that this time it will be different, that this time they will be ready and Matt will not lie and Matt will do better. That this time they will do it together.But Matt doesn’t know how to do comfort. So when he tries, the width of the corridor seems an unbridgeable chasm between them and all that Matt is capable of is, “It will be okay.”
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37
Collections: Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2020





	where all paths lead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_silver_sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_silver_sun/gifts).



> Dear giftee, I hope you enjoy! I took inspiration from two of your prompts: "grief" and your scenario, "In an urgent, life or death situation, Matt must make an impossible decision and life with the consequences, knowing full well there were no good choices and how he deals with the aftermath".

**where all paths lead**

  
Many criminals try to fill the void left by Fisk in his second arrest, but not one comes as close to pure _evil_ as the Hood does.

Foggy reads the name _The Bulletin_ has come up with with a generous dose of mockery in his tone. Karen gasps, seemingly fake offended _but not really_ , and snatches the paper from him, and that tells Matt that even if she’s more investigative than a journalist these days, she did manage to patch up her relationship with Ellison enough to provide for cooperation and for her abysmal nicknaming skills to be put to use. 

Matt laughs, at the abysmal nickname, and Foggy chuckles too, and Karen throws pens at them both that Matt dodges with more ease. Foggy flips her off and they settle behind their desks, content; Matt feels a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up and he’d be willing to bet the other two are smiling as well.  


***

”Are you going to go after him?”

Matt turns his head towards Foggy’s midly concerned voice and very anxious heartbeat. They’re alone at the office, Karen has left what seems hours ago and without her around the conversations tend to take turns for the more serious and somber. It’s almost like Foggy feels the need to be cheerful and optimistic when the three of them are together, but when it’s only Matt around he can finally exhale.

“The Hood?”

Foggy nods.

Matt’s fingers curl. He thinks of the Hood. A trail of broken bodies left throughout the city. Kids that no one would care about going missing left and right, and the dark whispers of what happens to them after. How could he _not_.

“Of course.”

Foggy nods again. He has long since stopped trying to dissuade Matt from anything. Instead of admonishments or pleas, what leaves his mouth is a soft, “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Matt says and they both know it’s a lie.  


***

  
What he finds astounding, even after months of chasing after the man, is how many of your regular, run-of-the-mill thugs flock to the Hood like little lost lambs. Even some you’d never expect.

“Oof!”

Matt’s slamming him into a wall certainly contributes to knocking the breath out of him, but Turk is breathless for a whole other reason. He doesn’t have the stomach for what lies on the ground several meters away from them, and Matt is grateful for a second that he can’t see. He’s not sure he would have the stomach for it, either.

“Is this the type of person you are now, Turk?” he hisses into the thug’s ear. “Someone who brings little kids to be--“

“I swear I didn’t know!” Turk whines. His head turns towards the bloody plateau to their left, an involuntary motion spurred by Matt’s words, a simple human instinct just like the whimper that leaves his mouth next. “I--I didn’t--!”

“Are you seriously telling me you didn’t know the Hood was involved in child prostitution?”

Turk swallows. “I didn’t,” he whispers, and he sounds both urgent and honest. Matt adjusts his grip on Turk’s collar. “I just drive some of his clients around. I mean, I knew, sort of, that he was selling kids to do, like, cleaning and shit for rich assholes, but I never--“

“--knew there was _fucking_ involved, too?”

He’s being crude. But there is nothing delicate or gentle about the butchery at their feet; the girl was no older than seven.

“I have a little girl of my own, man,” Turk continues whispering, “so I’d _never_. Man, DD, you’ve _gotta_ believe me. When I found out I wanted to do something, go to the cops or shit, but the Hood--“

Matt gets it. In a way, the Hood is even more terrifying than Fisk. Fisk at least tried to hide behind the veneer of civility and sophistication. The Hood didn’t hold such aspirations.

“Go to Detective Brett Mahoney,” he tells Turk. The man shudders under his hands. “Tell him the truth. And tell him to get Nelson and Murdock. They’ll protect you.”

Turk shakes his head. “No way, DD, that’s--“

“They’ll protect you,” Matt repeats. “I give you my word.”  


***

  
The only reason, Matt supposes, that he doesn’t lose either his cool or his breakfast during the meeting he and Foggy have with Brett and Turk is that he was already mostly aware of everything that Turk was describing.

“Jesus Christ.” Foggy runs a hand through his hair. It’s growing longer again and Matt isn’t sure what it means. “Just-- _fuck_.”

“Yeah.”

“This is fucked up.”

“Mhm.”

They’re standing opposite each other on two sides of a narrow and badly-lit corridor at the precinct, just outside the room in which Turk has just finished his gruesome tale. Foggy reeks of sweat and even from Brett Matt caught a whiff of acid earlier. It wasn’t pretty. It almost never was, but this was bad.

“Brett said they’re going to stash Turk somewhere, under an alias.” Foggy leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “To keep him safe.”

“They’re not arresting him?”

Foggy shrugs. “This is supposedly the better procedure. Who are we to argue with professionals.”

Matt hums again.

“Tomorrow we’re going to meet with D. A. Tower,” Foggy carries on. He tips his head back, angles his face towards the ceiling. Matt wonders what he’s looking at there. Whether his eyes are even open. “It’s gonna be a shitshow.”

“We’ll take the Hood off the streets,” Matt says. Reassurances are not his forte.

Foggy snorts. “We don’t even know who the Hood is.”

This whole situation makes Matt uneasy. It’s _nothing_ like that, it’s clearly different, but at the same time it’s Fisk all over again, with Matt potentially putting all their lives in danger. It’s Castle all over again, with Matt forcing them into a case that Foggy doesn’t like and wasn’t consulted on. Matt aches to reach out to Foggy and to reassure him that this time it will be different, that this time they will be ready and Matt will not lie and Matt will do better. That this time they will do it together.

But Matt doesn’t know how to do comfort. So when he tries, the width of the corridor seems an unbridgeable chasm between them and all that Matt is capable of is, “It will be okay.”

Foggy’s head drops and he’s facing Matt now. There is a slight change in the air around them, a minute shift in the current that Matt is _sure_ exists only in his head, but one he’s convinced himself means that Foggy is smiling.

Matt believes Foggy is smiling when he reaches out and brushes his fingers over Matt’s clothed forearm.

“I know,” Foggy says. “I know it will.”  


***

  
What Matt doesn’t know is that this will be the last time Franklin Nelson smiles.  


***

  
He’s still at the office – despite having said goodbye to both Karen and Foggy several hours ago – when his phone rings.

“If he’s still with you at the office then he’s an idiot,” Marci says in lieu of a greeting, “and if you two went out for drinks then he’s an asshole. Which one is it?”

“Hello to you too, Marce,” Matt says warmly even though he feels as if his insides have just been squeezed by an ice-cold hand. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Where’s Foggy?”

The hand squeezes harder.

“Not with me.”

Marci huffs. “Don’t cover for him. He knows fully well that I’ll forgive him for forgetting, it’ll only take some _persuading_ on his part.”

She makes the word sound as suggestive as she can to get a rise out of him, because that’s the kind of relationship he and Marci have now. He doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m still at the office and he really isn’t here.” Marci’s silent on the other side. “Have you tried Karen? Or his brother?”

The latter is a long shot, but nothing else comes to mind.

“Karen told me to check with you,” Marci says eventually. She sounds unnaturally calm and composed, as unlike Marci as you could get.

Matt’s stomach twists into knots and hurts, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he forgot all about dinner today.

“I’ll try calling him,” he offers, “maybe he really did go to a bar to get a drink. We’ve had... an intense day.”

Marci breathes into the phone. “Thank you, Matt.”  


***

  
There’s someone waiting for him by the warehouse where he’d spoken to Turk two nights before.

The man is easily a head and a half taller than Matt, and he’s built like a brick shithouse. At the same time he smells of expensive cologne and rich leather and the fabric of his clothes rustles like something pricey. He’s standing exactly in the spot where the seven-year-old’s blood spilled all over the ground. There’s no sign of that. 

“You have a call.”

He doesn’t approach Matt, merely throws him a phone that Matt catches. Like everything about him, the phone seems expensive.

“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” the voice on the other hand says. It’s accented and polite, and makes Matt’s moniker sound like a pet name. “I heard you’ve taken an interest in me.”

“The Hood.”

The Hood laughs. “My, my, you sound all business. No time for pleasantries?”

“Not in the mood.” Matt tries hard not to spit the words out. “What do you want?”

“A business proposal that’d be beneficial to us both,” the Hood drawls in that same silky tone. “You have something of mine, and I believe I have something of yours. Let’s trade.”

“If you hurt Foggy--“

The Hood tsks. “Now, if you behave sensibly, I will have no reason to. Bring me Turk Barrett and I’ll give you your lawyer friend back.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I have no issue with him personally. He’s just... insurance.”

“And if I don’t comply?”

“My issue will turn personal.” A note of steel enters the Hood’s voice. “Turk Barrett. You have--“

There’s a sound of commotion on the other side of the call and then, “Matt, don’t you dare! I will _never_ forgive you if--“

“Foggy,” Matt gasps.

“Feisty,” the Hood comments. Then, quieter, muffled as if he were covering the mic while speaking, he adds, “Make sure he doesn’t do that again.

“That was an impromptu proof of life,” the Hood tells Matt once he’s done barking orders to his underlings. “As you can hear, your lawyer friend is fine. And he will continue to be if you bring me Barrett. You have one hour.”  


***

  
“Keep the phone,” the Hood tells him and makes it sound like he’s doing Matt a favour. “I’ll send you the address.”

Matt wants to throw the offending piece of electronics, smash it into pieces, but knows it’d be inadvisable. The Hood might call again. He might need it to find Foggy, he might...

Oh, _God_. He knows fully well what will happen if he brings Turk there. 

He knows fully well what will happen if he _doesn’t_.  


***

  
It’s so easy to take out the two officers who are supposed to be guarding Turk’s room. Better safe than sorry; one of them might be working for the Hood, it’s clear the man has his people on the force.

The man himself shrieks in panic when Matt kicks the door to his room open and comes inside. “DD, what the fuck?”

“Get dressed,” Matt barks at him. “It’s not safe here, we need to go.”

Turk hastens to put shoes on. “Go where?”

“Detective Mahoney. You can trust him.”

They leave the room. Turk points his thumb at the two unconscious cops. “What about them?”

Matt shrugs. “The Hood knows you went to the police,” he explains as they leave the hotel. “They might be working for him.”

“Well _fuck_ ,” Turk says empathically. “Thanks, DD.”

“I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” Matt snaps. A part of him, a big part of him, thinks he shouldn’t be doing this at all. But Foggy. Foggy said he’d never forgive him and Matt knows he meant it. “I need you to tell me the locations of every single of the Hood’s hideouts. And you better make it quick.”  


***

  
He checks every single of the addresses that Turk provided him with and a few that he didn’t, but that Matt has heard whispers of. It takes him all night.

He finds nothing.  


***

  
A day passes.

Matt takes Karen to the meeting with Blake Tower and he doesn’t hear a word the D. A. says because he’s busy obsessively worrying.

He goes out that night too.

Another day passes.  


***

  
“They found him,” Marci tells him eventually. “Come to the hospital. It’s--not good.”

Matt’s out of the door even before she finishes telling him the hospital’s name.  


***

  
The doctor says things like “gross trauma” and “brain damage” and uses conditionals when talking about Foggy waking up in the near future – _ever_ – and Anna and Edward are next to him sobbing and Theo hasn’t stopped pacing and Marci is so tense that it seems to Matt she will snap and break at the first touch, and all Matt can focus on is the fact that he cannot see the extent of the damage inflicted on his best friend.

Foggy will be fine. It will be okay.

Anna and Edward are eventually let into Foggy’s room and Marci tags with them, leaving the still pacing Theo and Matt outside. Matt’s too much of a coward to go in there and face the consequences of his actions. And it’s the Punisher all over again, with Foggy getting hurt because of Matt and Matt not having the balls to confront it in person.

“It’s your fault.”

Theo’s words are whispered, but in the stillness of the hospital corridor Matt would hear them even without superpowers.

“It’s your fault,” Theo repeats a little louder and finally stops pacing only to face Matt.

Matt says nothing. It’s not like he disagrees.

“Whenever you’re around, he ends up in these shitty and dangerous situations,” Theo says and it’s the absolute truth. “He was fine before you. And when you were missing he was maybe not fine, but he was _safe_ and now he might as well be _dead_ and it’s all on you. You keep pulling him into this shit!”

The last sentence is shouted in Matt’s face and emphasized by Theo’s finger poking Matt in the chest and isn’t that funny, he didn’t even notice when Theo moved so close to him.

“Theodore,” Anna says stiffly. She's standing by the door to Foggy's room, with one hand clutching the doorframe and the other clutching her heart. Another thing that Matt didn't notice, her approaching; he can't help but notice her presence _now_. She smells strongly of salt.

Theo glances at his mother and then back at Matt. “Whatever.”

He storms off. Anna says nothing, which Matt considers a blessing because he’d rather take the silence than her heart telling him that her assurances that it wasn’t all his fault are completely false.  


***

  
It’s so easy to take out the two officers who are supposed to be guarding Turk’s room. Better safe than sorry; one of them might be working for the Hood, it’s clear the man has his people on the force.

The man himself shrieks in panic when Matt kicks the door to his room open and comes inside. “DD, what the fuck?”

“Get dressed,” Matt barks at him. “It’s not safe here, we need to go.”

Turk hastens to put shoes on. “Go where?”

“Somewhere safe. You can trust me.”

They leave the room. Turk points his thumb at the two unconscious cops. “What about them?”

Matt shrugs. “The Hood knows you went to the police,” he explains as they leave the hotel. “They might be working for him.”

“Well _fuck_ ,” Turk says empathically. “Thanks, DD.”

“I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” Matt snaps. A part of him, a big part of him, thinks he shouldn’t be doing this at all. But Foggy. Foggy was important and Matt would never forgive himself if he let him get hurt. There were important things and there were _more_ important things. Protecting Turk was important, but protecting Foggy was _more_.

He can do both. He is confident he can do both.

Even if it means subduing Turk for a while.  


***

  
He can’t do both.  


***

  
In the end it doesn’t matter what he was planning, because the Hood’s expensively-clad brick shithouse of a thug puts a bullet in Turk even before Matt manages to assess the situation. Matt didn’t even realize the man was there.

The Hood’s equally expensive phone chirps in Matt’s pocket.

“Now that this part of our deal is done with,” the Hood says pleasantly in Matt’s ear and Matt wants to reach through the phone and strangle him, “I should hold up my end of it.”

The implication is that Matt delivered Turk to die. It wasn’t his intention – he _had_ a plan to keep both Turk and Foggy safe, to stall and lie, but Turk panicked and the shithouse was inhumanly fast – but it is what happened, so maybe the Hood has the right to say that.

“If you don’t--“ Matt begins without a clear idea of how to end the threat.

The Hood laughs. “Oh, _love_ ,” he says softly as if he and Matt are some sort of bosom friends now, “I would _never_. Your lawyer friend is all yours. Pleasure doing business with you.”

He disconnects without telling Matt where he could find Foggy, but a moment later a voice message comes through and the Hood’s voice cheerfully explains where said lawyer can be found. It should probably worry Matt that the Hood sent a voice message instead of a simple text – a simple text that Matt wouldn’t be able to access on the Hood’s phone, but the Hood _shouldn’t_ know that – but it doesn’t.

A lot of things should worry Matt, but they don’t.

He tells himself it’s his relief muting everything else.  


***

  
“Foggy,” he breathes when he finally makes it to the address the Hood provided for him and he can hear nothing but Foggy’s scared heartbeat.

The sense of relief is immense.

“Foggy,” he repeats as he drops to his knees in front of the chair that Foggy is tied to. He can taste iron in the air, so Foggy must be injured, but it’s faint and oxidized which means the wound is old.

Foggy is fine. It’s okay.

“Matty,” and Foggy sounds breathless and relieved and ecstatic, like he’s never been this happy not to see Matt’s stupid face hidden by Matt’s stupid costume. “You came.”

“Of course,” Matt says as he unties him. Someone actually went and loosened the bonds so it’d be easier for him to untangle them. Courtesy. For some reason Matt finds that annoying. “You’re okay.”

The last of the rope falls to the floor and Matt helps Foggy up. Foggy grunts when he puts his full weight on legs which were bound for the past God knows how many hours. He sways a little and Matt reaches out to steady him.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Foggy says and those two words seem to encompass everything and threaten to make Matt cry. “How did you find me?”

Matt hesitates, but only for the briefest of moments. “I just looked everywhere.” He puts one of Foggy’s arms around his shoulders. “Come, we need to get to a hospital.”  


***

  
He’s not proud of himself.

He drops Foggy at the hospital, dashes back to his place to change and then goes _back_ , and Foggy’s surprise at seeing him almost makes up for Foggy’s apparent belief that Matt ditched him. Which – not without reason.

Foggy needs four stitches and has a slight concussion, and the rope burns are going to be a bitch for a couple of weeks, but he’s _fine_ otherwise. He even calls Marci and explains to her how Daredevil is now his hero in shining armour, apparently, and Matt wants to laugh and Matt wants to hug him and Matt wants to cry.

He’s not proud of himself, but it’s difficult to worry about that or even feel guilty when Foggy is next to him and is so breathtakingly _alive_.  


***

  
He cannot force himself to step into Foggy’s office.

Karen cannot force herself to look at him.

“I’m going to get him,” Matt says from just outside Foggy’s door, fists clenched and teeth gritted. “I’m going to kill him.”

He outright swears to murder someone. He's not proud of himself, but it’s difficult to worry about that or even feel guilty when Foggy is in a hospital and is so heartbreakingly _gone_.

Karen still doesn’t glance his way.  


***

  
His search for the Hood tears through New York like a knife, gutting the city he loves and spilling its blood. He think that Stick and Elektra would both be proud of him and _he_ isn’t proud of himself, but it’s something that he needs to do because the Hood has to be punished and because Foggy Nelson was his checks and balances and now Foggy Nelson is gone.

He wonders if this was the same for Frank Castle after his family was murdered, like a switch was turned in his head and all thought was abandoned in pursuit of one goal which crystallized in his mind: to punish those who took what he loves away from him.

He thinks he sympathizes with Frank more than ever now.  


***

  
Turk never shows up to the meeting with Blake Tower, much to the D. A.’s annoyance. 

“Thanks,” Foggy says to Brett over the phone. He pockets his mobile and sighs. “Turk apparently made a run for it. Knocked out his guards and escaped. That or,” a bitter expression twists Foggy’s lips, “the Hood’s guys got to him.”

“Maybe he’ll turn up.” The falsehood leaves Matt’s mouth with no problem even though it stings on the way out.

Foggy hums and scratches the stitches on his temple. Whatever sense of guilt was flaring into life immediately dies out.  


***

  
_The Bulletin_ is the first to announce that Turk Barrett’s body has been found.

“Damn,” Foggy says, folding the paper and putting it on his desk.

Matt doesn’t touch it.

It wasn’t his fault and Foggy is alive and that is what matters.  


***

  
“It’s your fault.”

Karen’s words are whispered, but in the stillness of their otherwise empty office Matt would hear them even without superpowers.

“What?”

Karen is staring at him. Ever since Foggy went missing, ever since Daredevil found him and saved him and brought him back because Matt Murdock cannot live without him, Karen has been staring at him. He can feel her eyes on him every day.

“Turk,” Karen says. “It’s your fault.”

He knows what she means, and she probably knows that _he knows_. It’d be an insult to her intelligence to deny anything, so he remains silent.

“You came to the hotel and took him and now he’s dead.”

“How do you know that?”

“Frank,” she says simply and yes, that makes a lot of sense, their weird connection an explanation enough. “I asked him to keep an eye on that hotel, to make sure that the Hood’s people wouldn’t come to hurt Turk. And he saw _you_.”

Foggy’s out getting lunch and that’s the only positive that Matt can currently come up with. “I didn’t mean for him to get hurt,” he assures Karen.

“But he did,” she shoots back. “Why did you take him?”

It’s his turn to whisper, like he’s sharing some shameful secret, “It was the only way to make sure Foggy would be fine.”

Karen nods. This she can understand. “Foggy would never forgive you if he knew.”

Yes. Matt knows.  


***

  
The punch catches him off-guard and the hand at his collar is the only reason he doesn’t fall.

“We need to talk,” growls Jessica Jones.

She’s wasting both of their time. Matt waits for her to tear into him for how violent and unhinged he’s become, and he doesn’t bother masking his impatience. He’s been stalking the Hood’s right-hand man and he had it on good authority that the guy would be at this club tonight. All Matt has to do is wait for Mr. Expensive Shithouse to leave with an escort of his choice through the back entrance and then he’s all Matt’s.

Jessica stares at him for a long minute.

“Do you honestly think,” she asks and her voice is dripping sarcasm like venom, “that you are the only one who has lost someone they loved more than life itself?”  


***

  
The thing is, Matt both lost Foggy and hasn’t. He’s not _dead_ so Matt cannot just bury him and grieve him and move on with his life, but he might as well _be_ dead for all that he’s in a coma and his brain activity is close to non-existent.

Matt’s not like Frank Castle who can feel safe in the knowledge that his family, his loved ones are gone and will never see the monster he’s become. And he’s not like Jessica Jones who can hope beyond hope that her sister will one day be redeemed and returned to her, safe and sound.

Matt’s halfway to halfway there and neither is possible for him and it’s slowly but surely killing him.  


***

  
The punch catches him off-guard and the hand at his collar is the only reason he doesn’t fall.

“We need to talk,” growls Jessica Jones.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Matt assures her.

“Turk,” she spits in his face and ah, yes, perhaps there is something for them to talk about.

Jessica sits him on the edge of the roof and plops gracelessly next to him. They’re above a club that Matt’s been staking out. The Hood’s Mr. Expensive Shithouse is supposed to be there tonight and Matt has a couple questions for him.

Jessica stares at him for a long minute. Matt fidgets under her scrutiny.

“Everyone’s worried,” she says, her tone surprisingly gentle, and it’s the last thing Matt expected her to say.

“Is this an intervention?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“A warning,” Jessica says. She takes a breath. “What the fuck were you thinking, Matt.”

“I didn’t plan on anything like that happening.”

“But it happened,” Jessica reminds him.

“They had Foggy.”

He can feel Jessica tense next to him. “You wouldn't be the first one to lose someone they loved more than life itself."

He wouldn't, he supposes. He thinks for a moment about Frank's family and Jessica's sister. He thinks about Stick and Elektra, too, and then he thinks about Foggy, and imagining a world without Foggy Nelson - a world in which Foggy Nelson is _gone_ \- hurts more than anything he's ever experienced. It's unbearable. 

It cannot be allowed. 

"I couldn't let that happen," he whispers, but not because he regrets. He whispers because such a thought should never be voiced. 

"Putting personal feelings first is very un-hero-like," Jessica observes, and of course she's right, but. Cannot be allowed.

“You’d do it.”

Jessica shrugs. “I’m not a hero.” She rubs her face and Matt can feel exhaustion radiate off her. Whatever’s been happening in her life lately couldn’t have been good. “Luke’s pissed and Danny’s shocked.”

Matt can imagine. Matt even understands. And Matt feels guilty, and that guilt keeps eating at him and is slowly but surely killing him, but it’s not guilt over being instrumental in Turk’s death because he doesn’t actually feel guilty about it. Maybe it’s a leftover from Stick’s idiotic training, or maybe it’s some residual trauma over Elektra, but he doesn’t feel guilty about Turk dying because in the end that’s what saved Foggy from horrible pain and most likely death. And _that_ is what makes him feel guilty.

“It’s a very thin line to tread, Matt,” Jessica warns him.

She means it well, but it only serves to remind Matt that he’s most likely already crossed it.  


***

  
He doesn’t know why he never got rid of that phone, but he very much regrets it now.

“Hello, Mr. Devil,” the Hood says in that silky tone that makes Matt’s skin crawl, “long time no hear. I’d like to talk business.”

“Go to hell,” Matt says.

The Hood tsks. “Now, now, let’s not be hasty. I know you’ve been--heavily involving yourself in my affairs. I can’t say I like it. And need I remind you, you still have some people you care about.”

“I’m going to take you down,” Matt hisses. “Just like I took down Fisk.”

“Oh but you should have realized by now,” the Hood chuckles, “that I am _nothing_ like Wilson Fisk.”

The line goes dead and Matt gives in to the urge to throw that phone at the wall.  


***

  
When he crosses a line he doesn’t so much cross it as he long-jumps far beyond it.

It’s Turk, of all people. Turk that he finds in one of the Hood’s warehouses, loading a bunch of terrified little kids into a van. Turk’s earlier pleading pops to the forefront of his mind, that he didn’t know, that he’d never, that he had a little girl of his own.

And Matt had believed that. Matt had believed Turk and then believed Foggy when he thought saving Turk was the right thing to do. And that right thing to do resulted in his best friend being on life support and in Turk apparently enjoying his continued existence as one of the Hood’s men.

For the first time, when he grabs Turk and throws him off a rooftop, he aims it so that Turk’s fall would shatter his spine. Turk’s not dead on impact, but he will die soon and Matt will find a measure of comfort in the knowledge that he did and that he suffered beforehand.  


***

  
“You’re off the rails, Red.”

Frank perches himself on the roof next to Matt and stretches like a lazy cat. Matt refrains from mentioning that Frank’s pot is equally black to Matt’s kettle.

“I’m coming for the Hood,” he tells Frank simply. It’s not a boast or even a promise; it’s a fact.

“And you’re sacrificing your morals to do that? You really went off the deep end.”

“I don’t need a lecture from _the Punisher_.”

Frank shakes his head. “If I were you, I’d consider why on earth would the Punisher feel the need to _give you_ a lecture.”  


***

  
“You sacrificed Turk.”

Matt stops chopping the onion. He closes his eyes to focus and ground himself before he lifts his head and turns it towards Foggy.

“I’ve been thinking about all of it,” Foggy carries on from the safety of Matt’s sofa, “Turk running away, you finding me in, frankly, record speed, now your crusade against the Hood... It all makes sense only if you did what the Hood told you to.”

The guilt over not exactly regretting his choices rears its head. “Foggy--“

“I told you not to. I _told you_ \--“

“And I didn’t,” Matt cuts in. “I had a plan to save both of you, it just... didn’t work out.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to get Turk in the first place,” Foggy snaps. “Or you should have taken him straight to Brett!”

“I needed to make sure you’d be okay!”

“And you’ve sacrificed your morals to do that?!” Foggy runs a hand over his face. “I just--I can’t, Matt. I can put up with a lot of your nonsense when I know you throw your morals and ethics behind it, but not _this_.”

Matt refuses to feel guilty about this. “I had to protect you.”

Foggy gets up from the sofa, but he grabs the back of it as if to steady himself. “I’m not that important, Matt.”

“No,” Matt says vehemently, “you’re _more_.”

Foggy lets go of the sofa. Matt can only stand there, a vegetable knife in hand, and witness him getting his jacket on while shaking his head sadly.

“Foggy--“

“ _This_ ,” Foggy makes a swooping motion with his hand that encompasses himself, Matt, the space between them, “is how I know you’re completely off the rails, Matt. You told me once that the city needed you in the mask. The city,” Foggy repeats as he steps closer to Matt’s front door, “not _me_. What happened to _that_?”  


***

  
Foggy doesn’t show to work after that.

Foggy is _gone_ , after that. 

It hurts more than anything he's ever experienced, but at least Matt can find a measure of comfort in the knowledge that wherever he is, he is alive and safe and far away from the shit Matt keeps pulling him into.  


***

  
It takes him months, _months_ , to track down the Hood and the man is not even surprised when Matt shows up.

“Matthew Murdock,” the Hood says silkily in a way that reminds Matt of how Foggy used to say his name once upon a time, and Matt wants nothing more than to punch the fucker, “I was expecting you.”  


***

  
Karen keeps staring at him as she cleans his wounds.

“Got no one else to do this for you?”

Matt shakes his head. Claire is gone, Elektra is gone, and Foggy is--well, Foggy is gone too, and Karen is the only person who still picks up when he calls.

“I went after the Hood.”

Karen’s hands still. She still doesn’t look away. “You should have known that bringing him down wouldn’t fix anything. He’s not _Fisk_.”

Oh, he knows. Matt would take ten Fisks over the Hood any day; Fisk at least never managed to ruin Matt’s life quite this much.

“Wouldn’t know,” he says instead. He thinks briefly about the Hood, laughing with his foot on Matt's throat. “I lost.”

Karen’s silent for a moment, then resumes her task of wrapping whatever shitty bandages Matt owns over Matt’s entirely too serious wounds.

“You shouldn’t have taken Turk to the Hood that night,” she whispers. “Everything that’s happened since then is because of that and it’s all on you.”  


***

  
Karen doesn’t look at him as she cleans his wounds.

“Got no one else to do this for you?”

Matt shakes his head. Claire is gone, Elektra is gone, and Foggy is--well, Foggy is gone too, and Karen is the only person who still picks up when he calls.

“I went after the Hood.”

Karen’s hands still. She still doesn’t look his way. “You should have known that bringing him down wouldn’t fix anything. He’s not _Fisk_.”

Oh, he knows. Matt would take ten Fisks over the Hood any day; Fisk at least never managed to ruin Matt’s life quite this much.

“I know,” he says instead. He thinks briefly about the Hood, wheezing with Matt's foot on his throat. "Still won.”

Karen’s silent for a moment, then resumes her task of wrapping whatever shitty bandages Matt owns over Matt’s entirely too serious wounds.

“You shouldn’t have taken Turk to Brett that night,” she whispers. “Everything that’s happened since then is because of that and it’s all on you.”  


***

Karen patches his wounds as best as she can and Matt is grateful for that. Whatever it is that she has with Frank Castle made quite the medic out of her.

“Thank you,” he says. He tries to infuse it with gratitude. Fails.

“Never again,” she replies stiffly and makes her way out of his apartment.

And Matt is left behind.

Bloody and alone.  



End file.
